Triumvirate? Or Triangle?
by candied orchid
Summary: The three of them have always been inseperable, unable to hold up without any of it's three legs. So what happens when underlying emotion in all three of them explodes? [verry badd at summaries..had to reload story, wuzn't working right..]
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I own nothing! All of this belongs to J.K. Rowling.!  
  
.........first fanfic..........enjoy.....r&r...  
  
"You know, Ron, if you just try, you could really do so much better in your classes. You're smart enough, just apply yourself, Ron, you know you can-"  
  
"God, Hermione, Quidditch was awful-"  
  
"Yeah, it's like Angelina and Wood were related or something," interjected Harry, trying to support Ron, even though he was having as much trouble concentrating.  
  
"Yeah what he said. I really don't need you breathing down my neck while I'm trying to concentrate on this stupid essay."  
  
"I'm not breathing down your neck, that's nearly impossible, physically impossible-"  
  
"You know what I mean," he grumbled. His essay was as long as it should have been; for once, he was worrying about the content of his essay instead.  
  
"Harry, read this over one more time please, I really need this grade!"  
  
"Why? Ron, I'm no better at Potions then you are. Ask Hermione, she actually listens to Snape, I don't really understand how."  
  
"Why can't I drop this stupid subject anyway? I've always despised Potions. Two more years of that greasy git? What was I thinking?"  
  
"Because you want to be an Auror?" Harry reminded Ron.  
  
"You haven't despised Potions, you just hate Snape." As Ron tried to interrupt, Hermione carried on, her voice motherly. "Ron, I'm sure its fine, now you should really get started on that Transfiguration paper, it's likely to keep you up all night, it kept me up quite late."  
  
"If it kept her up all night it might take you a full 24 hours," said Harry, trying to lighten Ron's mood. Ron cracked a small smile, but it slid off his face quicker than it had come.  
  
"Alright, you won't listen to me, you never do, so I shouldn't waste valuable sleep time. I'm going up to bed," said Hermione. It was obvious she too had had a tiring day, and was too exhausted to lecture them any longer.  
  
Ron looked in her direction and looked there for a while after the dormitory door had closed, but quickly glanced at Harry, as if to see if Harry had noticed anything, and turned back to his essay.  
  
"I would do this tomorrow, but my concentration won't be any better, will it?" he asked Harry, and by the tone of his voice Harry knew that he didn't want an answer.  
  
"I don't know about you, but lately it seems that it's a lot easier without Hermione telling us what we should have done, how we should have, could have done it earlier," said Harry, packing up his things. Though he too, had quite a bit of homework left, he knew he would feel better the next day.  
  
"Well, she's a pretty good reminder, isn't she?"  
  
"More of a broken record if you ask me."  
  
"I guess she means the best."  
  
"Or she just likes to nag us. I suppose even if we did finish all our homework on time she'd still tell us something we could have done better," said Harry as he looked around the now empty common room for his quill.  
  
It was as if roles were reversed. Usually Ron was the one complaining about Hermione; instead, Harry was the one grumbling.  
  
"You sure you don't want to sleep?"  
  
"Nah, I think if I actually got started on the McGonagall's essay, it'll be easier tomorrow."  
  
"It already is tomorrow, Ron," Harry pointed out, mouth twitching.  
  
"True."  
  
"So you're coming then?"  
  
"Nope." "Alright, suit yourself."  
  
******************************************************************  
  
"What's so important that you have to go waking me up at the crack of dawn for, eh? No one's died, have they?"  
  
"No, Ron, no, but I've got to tell someone, I can't hold it in any longer."  
  
"Not even until the sun's fully risen?"  
  
"No! I've been hiding it for so long," said Hermione anxiously. She was pacing the common room, fully dressed and obviously troubled.  
  
"Hiding what?" yawned Ron. He was still in his pajamas, obviously disgruntled at being woken so early. "I was having a good dream Hermione; maybe if you hurry I can still get back to it," he said, slumping on the couch.  
  
"This is hard for me to tell anyone Ron, let alone you!" said Hermione.  
  
What?.thought Ron. He sat up suddenly, rapt with attention. Don't get your hopes up. He reminded himself how disappointed he was last time he had thought something like this.  
  
"It's about Harry."  
  
"Did he tell you something? Having dreams again? What-"  
  
"No, nothing like that."  
  
"Then what? I really need sleep, Hermione, you of all people should understand how valuable it is this year."  
  
"Well, I kind of-I, er-kind of fancy someone."  
  
"Who? Whatever happened to Krum? His eyebrows start to bother you?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Then who?" Ron had temporarily forgotten that this had something to do with Harry.  
  
"Well-it's---um, well, why don't you guess?"  
  
"Guess?!? Hermione, you're being ridiculous."  
  
"No, I'm not! Just, I'll give you clues."  
  
"Alright then." He really was exhausted, much too tired to argue.  
  
"No, you ask the questions, and I'll answer them," said Hermione, sounding indecisive and very, very nervous.  
  
"What House? If it's a Slytherin, Hermione, I swear I'll-" "Gryffindor."  
  
"Is it a fifth year?" asked Ron curiously. This certainly couldn't be what he thought it was. Or could it? Ron quickly rejected the idea, and sat up, interested.  
  
Hermione nodded very slightly, biting her lip.  
  
"Am.I.friends with him?"  
  
Hermione visibly relaxed, and was [guiltily] happy that Ron's stupidity had come into play. "Ron, that's a stupid question, you're friends with all of the Gryffindor fifth years."  
  
"Seamus?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Dean?"  
  
Ron didn't even want to throw Neville's name out there..  
  
"Don't get all excited Hermione."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Is it.m-Harry?"  
  
Instead of answering with the quick, decisive and angry 'no!' that Ron had hoped for [and expected] she looked down at her feet. All Ron could see now was the top of her bushy head.  
  
"No!" he exclaimed, looking at her for a real answer, hoping against hope.  
  
She nodded. 


	2. Chapter Two: The Reaction

At first, Ron gaped at Hermione.  
  
"You're not serious."  
  
"I am, too," she said, in a whisper.  
  
"How long." He said it as a statement, but Hermione could not tell his reaction.  
  
"I don't know." Her head was still down.  
  
It was then Ron exploded.  
  
"YOU DON'T KNOW?!? YOU FANCY HARRY FOR GOD SAKE'S! HARRY!!!!! HARRY!!!! AS IN POTTER!!!!!!"  
  
"I know his last name, Ron."  
  
"HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ANYBODY? NO, HOW COULD YOU? FANCY HARRY, OF ALL PEOPLE? KRUM, HE WAS ALRIGHT, GRUMPY IF YOU WILL, BUT HARRY!"  
  
"I hoped you wouldn't take it like this."  
  
"Well-well-- I am!" Ron sputtered.  
  
He had calmed down just enough to stop yelling, though it took him a good minute or two of deep breathing. He didn't want the whole world to hear him. And after all, he had a loud voice. He turned toward the dormitory stairs, muttering to himself how he'd never be able to get back to sleep without telling Harry. Hermione grabbed his arm and he whipped around.  
  
"You won't tell Harry, will you?" she said quietly, a pleading look in her big, brown eyes.  
  
"No, I'm not that stupid, Hermione, no matter how bad I am at Potions. Telling Harry would make it a whole lot worse."  
  
"Alright. But Ron-"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Don't tell anybody. No one at all. You're the first and last to know. Even if you tell one person, they could tell one person, and it could leak to Malfoy or something, Ron, I'm really hoping it will pass, it ruins everything, I've not been able to concentrate on my homework, and-"  
  
"Devastating, it must be, not being able to concentrate on your homework." "Yes, it has been! And look, it's really nothing big I swear!"  
  
"Course it isn't."  
  
"It really isn't!"  
  
"You know, it all makes sense now. Why you hate Cho so much, why you think that Harry's really better off concentrating on his studies, how you always want to knit with him, and how when he came to Grimmauld Place you practically killed him, and Parvati and Lavender have been saying it for ages-"  
  
"They have?" She turned at Ron, who was now sitting back on the couch, contemplating. He had abandoned his attempt to go back up the stairs, seeing as there really was no was no way to get back into a dream about chocolate sundaes and the extinction of spiders.  
  
"Well, I think they've been joking, but once in a while they make a crack about you and him. Maybe they've still got clippings of those Skeeter articles from last year or something."  
  
"What have they been saying?"  
  
"I don't know, wasn't really paying any attention. If I had known--, well then I would have actually listened."  
  
"Oh, Ron, this isn't good."  
  
"You're a quick one, Hermione."  
  
"No, it really isn't, I thought I was good at hiding it," She got up and paced again. Ron wondered how pacing actually helped calm her nerves, it did nothing for him, especially the fact that he would knock into things if he were to pace.  
  
"You were, Hermione, you really were. It'll probably seem a lot more obvious now that you've told me." It had just occurred to him how awkward it was going to be between the three of them, especially since Harry would be in total oblivion.  
  
"Look, I'm going to the library-"  
  
"I won't even ask. You know, one day, I'm going to tell you that Harry's in mortal peril, and I bet you'd still go to the library."  
  
"Don't joke about Harry being in mortal peril, Ron," Hermione cast him a Mrs. Weasley-esque look.  
  
"Alright, alright, shutting up." [A/N: yeah, yeah I know, little happens in this chapter, but that's ok. R&R please, only my first...and ty to all the people who have reviewed, and so soon too] 


	3. Chapter Three: And she is who?

[A/N-third chapter, kind of veers a little off course...but its and essential part to the story.]  
  
dishclaimer: I own nothing of this, it's all j.k. rowling.  
  
It was Saturday, and even if there was no class, there was still a lot of homework to be finished, except for Hermione, of course, who only had an essay or two. All three of them would've gone outside to do their homework and enjoy the sunshine, but unfortunately, there was no sunshine to enjoy.. Winter wasted no time in approaching, and in fact, Ron had sworn he had seen some flurries outside in the morning.  
  
"Oh, come off it Ron, why do want snow that badly anyway? The only class they'd cancel would be Herbology or Care of Magical Creatures, and worse, they'd cancel Quidditch practice! Or wait, would they?" said Hermione, turning toward Harry.  
  
They were walking towards the Great Hall for lunch, all three of them were starving after a morning's worth of homework. Well, for Ron, it had been a morning's worth of pretending to do homework. He had been thinking about what Hermione had said for a very, very long time. At one point, he even thought he might tell Harry, because pure rejection would wipe Hermione's feelings much quicker then time alone. But that was cruel, Ron had thought, and he wasn't even sure that pure rejection would be provided.  
  
"Hey, look! It's Potty, the Weasel, and Mudblood!" said a sneering voice. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were so used to this taunt that Hermione, the one who verbally abused Malfoy the least by far, was forced to shout, "Is that the best you've got? I could've sworn you'd shot that one at us four or five years ago as well!"  
  
Malfoy, clearly put out by Hermione's own taunt, just shot them the dirtiest look he could muster and walked off.  
  
"Funny, didn't see Crabbe or Goyle behind him, usually they're like his house-elves-"  
  
At this remark, Hermione shot Ron a dirty look of her own.  
  
"I've told you millions of times, Hermione, it's just an expression!" said Ron exasperatedly.  
  
"Yes, Ron, but-"  
  
"You know, the two of you argues this so many times, if one of you were to land up in the hospital wing I could fill in for you, because I know exactly what you're going to say," interrupted Harry, trying to extinguish an age-old fire.  
  
"Anyway, I met this girl yesterday, she was really nice, she was watching our Quidditch practice, and at first, I thought she was some kind of spy or something, but she was really nice, her name is--" as Harry rambled on, Ron looked at Hermione's reaction to this. It was clear she was trying to look and sound nonchalant, and the truth was, if Ron didn't know that Hermione fancied Harry, he wouldn't be able to tell.  
  
".and she transferred her third year! I didn't know you could do that!" said Harry. He turned to Hermione. "Did they say anything about that in Hogwarts, a History?"  
  
The sarcasm went undetected.  
  
"Well no, actually, but I think Dumbledore lets people transfer in very special circumstances, or for some reason they weren't able to come when they were 11, so they could come as soon as they were ready or something like that. What House is she in?"  
  
"She's a Ravenclaw, but I've never noticed her before. You know, Ron, I think you should meet her. She's a big supporter of the Cannons." Ron looked at Harry "Really? A real one? Not some frontrunner who decided that now that the Cannons are winning that they-"  
  
"She's supported them almost as long as you have. Her brothers won't let her like any other teams. Well, that's what she says at least."  
  
"Why you trying to set me up anyway?" said Ron suspiciously. Harry didn't do this, what could he be up to?  
  
"I'm not trying to set you up, Ron, really, I just thought you'd like to meet her."  
  
As they entered the Great Hall and sat down, they heard the sound of flapping wings, clicking beaks, and soft hoots. They looked up to see a mass of owls entering, dropping parcels and parchment to their owners. Harry and Ron had not sent any letters, so they did not expect to see any white or tiny owls. However, there was a tiny and white owl that was trying desperately to hold its package.  
  
"That's not Pigwigdeon, it can't be, unless Ginny or someone was using it-"  
  
"It can't be Pig, Ron, Pig's not snowy white-"  
  
The owl dropped in front of girl with black and auburn curls. The girl was very pretty, beautiful in fact, with honey eyes and mocha skin. She petted the owl softly, gave it a chunk of bread [that was almost bigger than it's entire body] and it went off. She unrolled the parchment and read the letter and started to smile; she had an amazing smile.  
  
"That's her, Ron! That's her! Her name's.well I don't remember her name, but that is her!"  
  
Ron stared at the girl.  
  
"Ron, don't stare," said Hermione. "You look stupid with your mouth open like that."  
  
"Yeah, what are you gaping at, Weasley? A sack of Galleons? Never seen it before have you?" There was no one else this could be. Harry turned back at Malfoy, with his pale eyes, hair, and skin, and his arrogant swagger.  
  
"You, know, Malfoy, you're really losing your touch."  
  
"Yeah, I mean, even Ginny could come with better," chimed Hermione.  
  
"What's wrong, Malfoy? Going soft?"  
  
He narrowed his cold eyes. "You still haven't answered my question, Weasley. What are you staring at?" Ron, determined not to answer Malfoy [his ears were a little bit red], kept looking. Malfoy eventually followed Ron's gaze, and looked at the girl. Both Harry and Hermione expected something, a comment, a taunt, something. But there was nothing. Malfoy started to stare at her as well, his expression softened.  
  
Hermione leaned toward Harry, "She's not part veela, is she?"  
  
"Of course not, Hermione, you don't see anyone else looking at her." Harry turned toward the Ravenclaw table. "Where is she anyway?"  
  
"She left," said Ron, sounding as if he had just come out of being hypnotized. He started picking at his casserole.  
  
"I'm not hungry anymore.let's go back."  
  
[a/n. I know I've said it twice.next chapter will be more, well, back to the original story. R&R] 


	4. Chapter Four: Hmmmmmm

As the three of them walked up to their common room, Hermione gasped and covered her open mouth with her hand. Clutching her bag, she breathlessly said "Oh, no! I've got to go to the library, I've forgotten too, oh, Professor's going to be so angry, what if, I'll meet you two later, oh how could I forget! He told me not to..". She was still muttering as she left them and turned the other way.  
  
"What's with her? She's already been to the library, at an ungodly hour this morning, why is she always rushing there? It bothers me sometimes," remarked Ron.  
  
"She went to the library at an ungodly hour?"  
  
"Well, yeah she woke me up this morning and we were talking and then she rushed off to the library, it's like she's fed there or something, d'you think she's meeting someone there or something, like she was with Krum?"  
  
"You two were up this morning? And talking? Was it something important?" Harry said, facing Ron with an odd look on his face, one Ron could not figure out  
  
"No, she was just-well-being neurotic. You know, the usual." Ron tried to be casual, and he would have been if it weren't for his ears. They turned a bit off-color as he said this, and Harry noticed..  
  
"Hey, Harry, question." Ron was desperate to change the subject; he didn't want to break his word, even though a little voice inside of him begged to differ.  
  
"Mimblus Mimbletonia," responded Harry, as the portrait obliged and swung open.  
  
"Why are you trying to set me up with that girl anyway?"  
  
"I-trying to-what?"  
  
"Why are you trying to set me up with the Ravenclaw Cannons' fan?"  
  
"I-Ron, I'm not! What made you think that?" said Harry, pulling out ink and parchment and sitting down. He also started to look a little uncomfortable. Was it cold or something?  
  
"Well, I mean, why else would you tell me about her? Don't tell me its just because she's a Cannons' supporter, I know lots, Harry," said Ron, also pulling out his dreaded Transfiguration essay.  
  
"I just thought you'd like to meet her, she kind of reminded me of you-"  
  
"Well, she's not tall, red-haired, and freckly. How could she remind you of me?"  
  
"No, well, she, well, I just thought you would get along well with her."  
  
"Ron? Getting along well with a girl?" Fred and George Weasley had just entered the common room, coming down the boys' dormitory steps.  
  
"But Ron, I thought you said girls had cooties!" said George, feigning confusion. Harry chuckled.  
  
"Wait til I tell Hermione you said that," continued Fred, shaking his head in mock disappointment.  
  
"Yeah, she would kill you," agreed George.  
  
"Shut up," said Ron, but there was a small smile on his face.  
  
"But which girl are you talking about?"  
  
"Yeah, I can't imagine anyone wanting to go out with little Ronniekins."  
  
"Except for maybe a banshee."  
  
"Gnome"  
  
"Troll woman."  
  
"I don't even think Moaning Myrtle would like this kid."  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
"So who is it? We'll find out sooner of later."  
  
"I'm not going out with anyone, me and Harry were just talking."  
  
"Harry and I, little bro. But still, who were you talking about?" George really did seem interested, sitting down beside his little brother, whose ears started to glow.  
  
"She's this Ravenclaw-" started Harry, as Ron shot him a look.  
  
"What year?" asked Fred casually, starting to eat a muffin that he took out from his pocket.  
  
"Fifth."  
  
"Quidditch players?" said Fred again, mouth full.  
  
"Reserve Seeker." Ron's ears started to get redder, and he sank his head onto his hands..  
  
"I think I know her, or heard Angelina complaining about her or something. Lots of curls?"  
  
"Yeah that's the one. You know her?"  
  
"Oy, George, we've got to go, do that-that thing."  
  
George looked at his watch. "Very true, Mr. Weasley. Tell us later about Ron's little girlfriend, alright Harry?"  
  
"Yeah, we'd really like to see if she's insane."  
  
"They think they're so funny, don't they?" said Ron, trying to fix a smear on his essay. His ears were settling back down now.  
  
"Well, sometimes they can be. Those candies they invent.well, it would be quite funny to see Malfoy burst into a canary."  
  
"Malfoy, would he make a better canary or ferret?" said Ron, and they both laughed, reminiscing Malfoy's great Transfiguring downfall last year. "Anyway Harry, never answered my question."  
  
"I didn't?"  
  
"No, you haven't."  
  
"Why are you so suspicious anyway?  
  
There were so many things Ron wanted to say to that. In his head, he thought: You like Hermione and you know it, you've probably told everyone except me, and then she fancies you back, so before you know it you two will be going out and kissing everywhere and you want me to have a girlfriend so you won't feel guilty being with her all the time, isn't it, and then there's the fact that you think I can't get anyone on my own, because I'm too poor, or too ugly, or too tall or something-  
  
Every single thing that mildly irked Ron about Harry flooded into his head, and he almost had to literally cover his mouth to try and stop himself from officially ruining his friendship with Harry.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Lack of sleep can do crazy things to you," said Ron, patting himself on the back for coming up with something believable.  
  
"Very true. Stupid O.W.L.'s. If they didn't count so much, we wouldn't be studying half as much. And why do they count so much? I mean, is it really going to matter when we're thirty whether or not we can perform a Cheering Charm at 15?" As Harry mumbled other thoughts like this while reading up on something for History of Magic, Hermione ran in, breathless, and ran up her dormitory stairs without even a 'Hello.' Neither of them noticed, she ran in so fast.  
  
"McGonagall has no idea what relaxing is does she?"  
  
"Nope, don't think so," replied Harry. The crowd in the common room had thinned out. A lot of them were going out in the snow, which Ron could not help mentioning he had predicted with his flurries. Hermione's reply: "So you're happy you can see into the future and end up like Professor Trelawney?" That shut him up.  
  
"Hey, you two, look at this." it was Hermione. No longer breathless, even though it had only been a few minutes. She walked down the steps slowly, carrying a big package.  
  
"What's that?" said Ron, putting down his quill, glad for a reason to stop thinking about Cross-Species transfiguring.  
  
"It's." Hermione laid the package on the table, ripping the twine, then unwrapping the dull brown packing paper. Inside was a plain box.  
  
Harry jumped in front of Hermione "Don't open it!" Hermione, looking rather pleased that Harry had jumped to her defense. "It could be anything, this isn't regular Muggle post, this is Hogwarts."  
  
"True."  
  
"At least have your wand out," suggested Ron, who wasn't very happy about what had happened. It seemed to confirm his theory.  
  
"Alright, then," agreed Hermione. She took her wand out and held it in her hand as she opened the box and gasped. She took a big basket out of the box and set it on the table, admiring it.  
  
The basket was huge, full of every kind of Honeydukes chocolate. There were bars, truffles, trifles, and even those one's that make your mouth smoke, one of Hermione's favorite. There was even a Never-Ending Chocolate Box, which Hermione had never seen before.  
  
"Ooh, what's this!"  
  
"I've heard of those before, Fred always wants to buy one. Even if you eat everything that's inside, the next time you open it, it'll be completely refilled with whatever kind you want. They're dead expensive, Fred's never got the Galleons. You can pass it on for generations, it can actually become a family heirloom if you like chocolate a lot," Ron explained, eyeing it enviously. "Listen, why don't I get some stuff from the kitchens to, you know, help it go down. Too much chocolate at once, well, gets me kind of queasy. That is, if you're sharing.."  
  
"Of course! Now be quick, we'll wait," said Hermione excitedly. She was still prodding at the package.  
  
It took Ron quite a while to get stuff from the kitchens, because most of the things that house-elves were giving him didn't go well with chocolate, like chicken.  
  
As soon as he came back, however, the common room was empty, and Harry and Hermione were in a corner. Something told him not to burst in on them, in fact, that little voice reappeared and told him, maybe, to casually eavesdrop.  
  
He kept the food inside his robes [there wasn't too much of it], and he sneaked into an alcove just near where they were huddling, and he started to hear their words.  
  
"Hermione, we should really wait for Ron, you know."  
  
"Just one, Harry, here! You've never had one of these have you?" she replied, pointing to the candy that makes your mouth smoke, Pepper Imps, Ron remembered.  
  
"There was no sender, Hermione, what if they're poisoned or something! You've filled candies with poison, before, you should know!"  
  
"Not with poision, Harry, Sleeping Draught. I'm willing to take the chance, I love these things." Her voice was down to a whisper now.  
  
"Are they that good?" His voice was just as soft. Ron could feel his ears heating up.  
  
"Mmhmm." He opened his mouth, and she stuck one in. Ron had to sit on his hands.  
  
"Wow, they really do make you smoke at the mouth then?"  
  
"Just wait, Harry, you'll see."  
  
No sooner had she said that did little wisps of smoke start to come out of his mouth, and Ron suddenly realized how close their heads were, and as he thought that, they got closer, and closer.  
  
Until they kissed.  
  
It was then Ron decided to stand up and drop all the food on the floor, startling both Harry and Hermione, and as they looked, his ears were brighter than either of them had ever seen. 


	5. Chapter Five: Wait, what?

[A/N: sorry for the delay between updates. Life gets crazy on ya, and I wanted to leave a little suspense.after all, when you hear about Ron's ears getting that red, you are interested, right?]  
  
"R-R-Ron!"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Wha-why-did you get the food?"  
  
"I did, but it's on the floor now, so it's no good. You two been having fun?"  
  
"We-we've been waiting for you."  
  
"Obviously."  
  
They cowered in the corner, making sure they were completely separate from each other, cowering at the calmness of their usually very expressive friend.  
  
"Ron, we didn't-"  
  
"It wasn't-"  
  
"We swear-"  
  
It was amazing, there were only two people talking, but it sounded as if there were much more. Ron wondered if there were voices in is head, if his anger caused some sort of schizophrenia. Why wasn't he angrier, though? He had nightmare-d this situation so many times. And in those nightmares, he'd not spoken to them for days, avoiding the two of them at all costs, taking longer routes everywhere, them trying desperately to get him back on their side. But somehow, that voice had come back from lunch and told him that that was not the route to take.  
  
"I really don't get why you two are trying to apologize for."  
  
They stopped and looked at him, stupefied.  
  
"You didn't see anything-unusual?"  
  
"Oh I saw lots of things unusual. In fact, just this morning, I saw something-"  
  
"No, I mean, just now?"  
  
"Well, it was unusual, of course, but it was justified."  
  
"Justified?"  
  
Both of them looked very confused and a little afraid.  
  
"Yes, of course."  
  
"How?"  
  
"You don't think it was justified? If you don't.."  
  
Harry and Hermione looked at each other, for the first time, awkwardly. They had just realized the awkwardness of the situation, the awkwardness of Ron's situation, just the general awkwardness. There was too much of it, it hung around them in so much quantity that they could almost see it. Ron slowly turned, picked up his wand and threw the wasted food in the garbage, a pang of guilt hitting him as he thought of the house-elves. He then turned again to walk up the stairs. He heard footsteps behind up, but didn't turn around to look at Harry's face. He didn't want to see it right now. Of course, he wouldn't let Harry know that this was the case. He wasn't sure why, but he really wanted to pretend that he was ok with it. In a twisted way, it would make them hurt more.  
  
"Please, Ron, just let us-"  
  
Ron shut, not slammed, the door in Hermione, not Harry's, pleading face. He got into his pajamas and into his bed, not making a sound, being incredibly dull. He didn't know what exactly to think. Sure, he had feared this would happen, but it was only a fear. Now it was real. What would it do to him? Or rather, them.  
  
He lay on his other side, fingering the velvet, scarlet curtains that shielded him from what he was sure were Harry's hesitant footsteps. He tried to think of a plan.  
  
His first instinct, at the time, was to yell, scream, and hex them both until he was calm again. But he didn't want to murder them, and something [it was probably that vindictive little voice of his] was telling him that that would not be punishment enough. What was making him so vengeful? Oh yes. His two best friends were in love with each other, and he would be left each sunset not only without a girl, but without a friend as well.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Harry woke up extremely early. It was still dark, but he was not tired. He was sure he had been awake for at least 30 minutes trying to sleep again, but he just couldn't. He looked outside. The sun hadn't even peeked over the horizon yet. He sat up in bed, then bent over to get his books. As long as he was up, might as well get some homework out of the way.  
  
But he couldn't concentrate. He was usually a morning person and could usually get much more done in the morning. As he looked over at the hangings, belonging to another bed, on his right, he put his quill down and started to think.  
  
How had yesterday happened? A couple of weeks ago he had no feeling for Hermione..and now he was kissing her. Could it have been what Neville said? But if every time someone hinted that to Harry a girl fancied him and he kissed the girl, where would that get him? He looked over at Ron's bed, wishing he would wake up so they could talk. He had no idea what he would say. What could he say? That he was sorry? Sorry for what? Even Ron agreed that they were justified. But then what? That things weren't going to change? No, that was a lie. He knew they were. They were going to change drastically. All of sudden, Ron would feel like a third wheel, only accompanying them places when absolutely necessary. A vision flashed in his head. Not a nice one.  
  
Harry was doing his homework, his arm around Hermione's waist, and then the same arm up on the table, holding his parchment. Hermione was doing her homework as well, and occasionally would brush some hair out of Harry's eyes, whisper something in his ear, or kiss him. It was a sweet sight, and it gave a small smile. Until he turned [in his head] and saw Ron, trying not to grimace at the sight of them. He was sitting right next to them, trying to make conversation. But each time, he was answered with kisses or sweet nothings, neither of which was directed to him.  
  
Harry flashed back to real life. This couldn't happen. The three of them couldn't evolve to that. Where would it leave Ron? Where would it leave all of them? What would the Weasleys say? The Order of Phoenix? Suddenly, a lightbulb flashed over his head, and Harry realized why exactly he was feeling so horrible about the whole mess. It wasn't because he was afraid of change; it wasn't because he was afraid of the aftermath of a possible breakup between him and Hermione; it wasn't because he was afraid of what people would say. He was feeling the worst feeling of all: pity for what would become of Ron.  
  
[a.n: Hey, short chapter I know. Still pondering my next chapter. R&R!] 


	6. Chapter Six: Secrets

[a.n: Werd. Palabra. Mot. Thanks for reviewing. And thanks to chelles for inspiration to start writing again. This chap is a little weird, but I wrote it late at night. At least, I started it late at night.]  
  
I own nothing!  
  
Harry had fallen asleep after his whirlwind of thoughts. It was a disconnected, disturbed, light sleep, but it was sleep nonetheless, and it helped clear his mind. He went down to the common room, en route to the Great Hall for a good hearty breakfast, when Ron's voice halted him.  
  
"It's nearly noon, you know."  
  
"Is it really?" Harry glanced at the time; how could he have been tossing and turning for that long?  
  
"Mmhmm. You won't find anything worthwhile if you go down to the Great Hall now. Might as well wait until lunchtime." Ron's voice was different, it wasn't terribly hearty, as if he was holding back, but it most certainly wasn't relaxed.  
  
"True. Would you rather eat omelet leftovers or be hungry? Quite a decision."  
  
"Mm," murmured Ron, bending over something which didn't look like homework, Harry saw as he sat down beside him.  
  
"Writing a letter?"  
  
Ron looked at him, almost sharply, and rolled up the parchment, hastily stuffing it into his overflowing bag. "No," he mumbled.  
  
"Oh. Have you done your Transfiguration essay, then?"  
  
"No, I'm going to the library to do that now.."  
  
"I hate the library. They don't let us utter a word in there, do they?"  
  
He waited steadily, maybe, for Ron to invite him to go with him to the library, or make a witty remark about the silence of the library, but he didn't. Ron just walked off, looking at his feet. Harry, feeling a sense of reckless abandonment, or guilt, or pure suspicion, decided to see if Ron really was going to the library. If he really was, he would've said something witty.  
  
Running up the dormitory stairs, grabbing the cloak and getting out the portrait hole without getting too far away from Ron took quite some effort. So did trying to keep up with Ron when he was already out of breath. Luckily, Ron's hair made him easy to keep track of.  
  
Harry didn't think. Why was he following his best friend? Did he not trust him? Did he want to get away from Hermione? He didn't know. He realized that it was probably paranoia, that he probably was heading off to the library after all. He turned around, ready to go back and regain his sane self, when he saw Ron completely avoid the entrance to the library and walk straight on. Maybe Harry did have a sense of intuition after all.  
  
It was then that Hermione had decided to pop up in front of him, out of nowhere, as if she had been using an invisibility cloak, looked him straight in the eye, and declared, "We need to talk. Desperately."  
  
"Hermione-"  
  
"About yesterday."  
  
"Of course about yesterday. Couldn't have been homework, could it?" "What happened yesterday was-"  
  
"Hermione, why now, why now-" Ron's head was a tiny orange dot, bobbing far in the distance. Even if Hermione hadn't arrived so ceremoniously, Harry would've lost him.  
  
"Fine, if you'd rather talk about it at lunch, where someone's bound to overhear us-"  
  
"Why not after lunch? I am starving."  
  
"Why've you got your cloak with you?" Random change of subject. Something Hermione didn't do often.  
  
"Uh..what?"  
  
"Your cloak. Why do you have it with you?" She eyes him suspiciously, and used her extensive knowledge of the way Harry worked to come up with: "What did you want to do illegally this time?"  
  
"Nothing, grabbed the wrong thing by accident. In fact, I wouldn't have noticed until I got to the Great Hall that I had taken it with me. Shall we go put at back? We can talk during the walk back."  
  
"Alright."  
  
The first couple of yards were walked in silence, but not awkward, but rather thoughtful. It was Harry who broke it.  
  
"So what exactly did you want to say about last night?"  
  
"Well-"  
  
"Well-water. That's a deep subject."  
  
Hermione looked at Harry with narrowed eyes. "Sorry. Ron's rubbing off on me."  
  
"Anyway. Look. I couldn't tell. What happened last night-did you initiate it? Or was it a spur of the moment, Pepper Imp-in-mouth, late night lack of sleep thing?"  
  
It was time for Harry to seriously consider his feelings for Hermione, which he had tried in vain to do earlier this morning. Did he like her? He looked her up and down, hopefully subtly, and didn't exactly know what to say. They had been best friends for so long that there was no doubt that dating would only mean kissing her. But still, over time, it would become more emotionally, and he wasn't sure of that.  
  
"I'm not sure, Hermione," he said earnestly.  
  
"What do you mean, not sure?" She looked at him quizzically.  
  
Harry said exactly what he thought, for he felt it was a good reason. "Well, we've been friends for so long; wouldn't it be weird if we were to go out or something?"  
  
"Well, that is true, but that might not happen," she said logically.  
  
"I highly doubt it won't. And if we do break up or something, that would ruin a 5 year friendship that's been through a lot. I'm not really sure I'm ready to risk that."  
  
"So you'll think about it?"  
  
"Won't you?"  
  
"I have thought about it a lot already." They stepped through the portrait hole. "Wait here," he muttered, leaving the invisibility cloak at the foot of his bed. He then came out, and they stepped out of the Fat Lady again.  
  
"When?"  
  
"Last night! I barely got any sleep. The look on Ron's face..hard to forget."  
  
This brought up the most controversial subject.  
  
"Hermione, if we were to date, what would happen to Ron?"  
  
"I'm not sure. Surely he'd feel very used, and you know what would happen, practically?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"We'd get wrapped up in each other, and all that would matter would be each other. Since we are already good friends, our entire life would become each other. And he'd feel used because they only time we'd think of him was when it wasn't possible to think of or be with the other," explained Hermione, very bluntly.  
  
"That's only one option, right?"  
  
"Well, yes. But can you think of any others?" They were now near the Great Hall, where an crowd was unusually gathered at the Ravenclaw table. Among the crowd, they saw four bright red heads, knowing that Fred, George, Ginny and Ron were all over at the table. What could be so important to attract all the Weasleys?  
  
Harry abandoned Hermione's question as he looked toward the table.  
  
"A Never-Ending Chocolate box! I've always wanted one. Never got the Galleons though, they're so expensive!"  
  
"Pepper Imps, Brooke, wow," remarked someone else, admiring the basket.  
  
The girl who was apparently Brooke looked at the basket. It was ornate, filled to the brim, and oddly familiar..  
  
The crowd, including the Weasleys, started to thin as food appeared, , but the honey-eyed, raven-haired girl still stared quizzically at the basket.  
  
"Brooke! That's her name!"  
  
At the sound of her name, the girl looked up and flashed a stunning smile once again. "Harry?"  
  
"Hey," said Harry, walking over to the table. "That's the girl," he whispered to Hermione, who followed him, looking curiously at the basket.  
  
"Want a chocolate? I'm told I'll never run out now." She offered him a glazed caramel truffle, his favorite. He sat down at the Ravenclaw tale opposite her, to the chagrin of a few, but not before introducing Hermione.  
  
"Brooke Manchester, Hermione Granger. Hermione, Brooke," indicating each at the sound of their names.  
  
Brooke smiled at Hermione and motioned her to sit down, offering her a white chocolate. Hermione accepted, and a look of pleasure came on her face when she bit into the chocolate. "So who sent you this?" said Harry.  
  
"I don't know. No card. But it must be somebody rich; these things are don't come cheap. I wish I knew who it was I could thank them."  
  
"You know, I got the same package yesterday," said Hermione, looking at the basket. "In fact, it was the same exact one."  
  
"Really? That's odd," she trailed off, looking at something on the other side of the hall. "I have no idea how I'm going to finish all this chocolate. I'd like to, but I highly doubt I can," Harry kicked himself for not thinking of this sooner. He motioned for Brooke to get up, and with Hermione trailing behind, they walked over the Gryffindor table.  
  
"Ron?"  
  
Ron turned around to face Harry.  
  
"I'd like you to meet Brooke Manchester." Ron looked her up and down. He then replied:  
  
"Weren't you the girl at the Quidditch pitch this morning, watching the Hufflepuffs practice?"  
  
"Yeah..you were there too?"  
  
"I study better outside. Sit, will you?" Brooke sat, and they began to talk. Of what, Harry did not hear, for Hermione dragged him quickly outside.  
  
"Hermione, I haven't even eaten-"  
  
"Just what do you think you're doing?"  
  
"I'm introducing them; I thought they'd get along. Why are you so agitated about it?"  
  
"Are you trying to set up Ron so you won't feel guilty about us? If there is going to be an us?"  
  
"No, Hermione, really, all I thought was that they'd get off well. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"  
  
"Yes! You're not doing it to be nice; you're doing it out of guilt! That's horrible, Harry! You're so shallow. You think that this will all be alright if Ron has girlfriend, don't you?"  
  
"Wait! Just before you were saying how-"  
  
"I wasn't saying it would be better if he had a girlfriend!"  
  
"But it would! Why don't you want Ron to be happy?"  
  
"He won't even like her, Harry, you're just trying to confuse him!" Their voices were rising, out of frustration; Harry had no idea why Hermione was so frazzled, Hermione had no idea why Harry was so stupid.  
  
"Why won't he like her? They're a perfect match!" yelled Harry, believing it.  
  
"He WON'T like her!" Her eyes blazed.  
  
"Why not?!?" His voice was alarmingly loud.  
  
"Because he likes me!" 


	7. Chapter 7: Surprises

[a/n. sorry for delays. Suffered a little writersblockitis with this chap, so took me a while to start up.]  
  
Harry didn't know what to do. He and Hermione had been hanging out a lot, and it had been two weeks since she had so self-righteously proclaimed that Ron liked her and would never like Brooke. If she was right, Ron was a very good actor. He had been spending time with Brooke a lot, watching various Quidditch practices, talking at lunch, and even studying together. They were becoming very good friends, to say the least.  
  
"So should I ask her?"  
  
Ron stared up at the notice board one more time, and flipped up a couple of useless papers put up by first years to check the Hogsmeade date one more time. Checking the calendar on the far side of the board, he wanted to make sure one more time that it was this Saturday that they were going to Hogsmeade.  
  
"Well, maybe. Depends."  
  
"On what?"  
  
"On what she'd say."  
  
Ron slapped him on the arm. "Of course it would depend on what she'd say! I don't want someone else to ask her first, though,"  
  
"So you do like her!"  
  
"Well, no, I just don't really want her to go with some Ravenclaw scum, like that Goldstein idiot she's been eyeing."  
  
"You like Anthony! You said he was pretty nice for someone from such a competitive Quidditch team!"  
  
"Doesn't mean he can't be an idiot."  
  
"Well Ron, you've got three days, either you ask her or you don't."  
  
Just then, Hermione walked through the portrait, carrying the usual ton of books behind her with ease. She plopped down next to Harry, scattering the books about the table and began to open one. She looked at the two of them. "Why'd you stop talking?"  
  
Ron strode over and sat down. "Hermione, should I ask Brooke to go to Hogsmeade with me?"  
  
He studied her reaction. It was normal, but he thought she saw something pass behind her eyes, a twitch in her face. He blinked, and looked at her. She was definitely holding something back.  
  
"Do you like her?"  
  
"I don't know.."  
  
She looked up something in the textbook open in front of her, flipped the page, and then jotted something down before answering.  
  
"Well maybe you should figure that out before you do."  
  
"I have three days!"  
  
"True. But don't you think it'd be a bit misleading if you asked her and then it turned out you didn't like her? No girl wants to be mislead, believe me." Ron saw the twitch again. Something was going on. "And if I like her?"  
  
Now that, that was a big twitch. "Then ask her. I'm sure she'll say yes."  
  
"Alright then, I will." He stood up.  
  
"Where you going?"  
  
He looked at Harry as if he were a enormous idiot. "To ask her!"  
  
"How will you find her? She could be anywhere," said Hermione in a matter- of-fact tone. She looked immersed in her work, her bushy hair falling over her face.  
  
"She's probably near the lake or on the Quidditch pitch. She says the Ravenclaw common room is stuffy and she doesn't like to study there."  
  
He turned out and walked through the portrait hole.  
  
Harry was left with Hermione. Great, he thought. Just great.  
  
At this thought, the thought that all he would do in the common room is study, he called "Ron!"  
  
His foot was almost gone, but he heard his and stuck his carrot-topped head through the window. "Yes?"  
  
"Can I come with you?"  
  
"Sure. Don't know why you would want to though."  
  
Harry quickly shoved all his books in his bag. "I need a break."  
  
"Then why are you taking your books?" said Hermione, looking up finally. She looked staid and reasonable.  
  
"Who knows, I might find it better to study out there," Harry replied, his back still turned.  
  
It was a glorious day. Anyone would have wanted to study outside, yet hardly anyone was there. The sky was cloudless, and the blue seemed to stretch forever, past the horizon and into the heavens. It contrasted beautifully with the bright fresh green of grass that had not seen sunlight for a season. Sitting under a large willow tree, with aged branches and a protective stance, was Brooke. That hair was unmistakable. As they neared her, they heard her muttering incantations under her breath.  
  
"What are you practicing?"  
  
"Random Transfiguration. It's my worst subject."  
  
"All of my subjects are my worst subjects."  
  
"Except for Divination, of course."  
  
"Oh yeah, foretelling my death is something I'm very good at."  
  
"Foretelling your own death? How many times?"  
  
"Three, at least."  
  
"And you're still alive?" "You can tell how good at Divination I am."  
  
"Well you're probably better at it than I am at Transfiguration."  
  
"Not true."  
  
"So true! I can't even transfigure a blade of grass into a needle."  
  
"Bet I can't, either."  
  
"Who needs to know how to do that, anyway?"  
  
"Some grandmother, I suppose."  
  
"True. But I'm not a grandmother, I don't need to know!"  
  
"But you will be someday."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Most probably."  
  
"No, maybe."  
  
"Why maybe?"  
  
"I don't know if I want to get married."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because boys are stupid."  
  
"Aye, we are."  
  
"Well there are some smart ones."  
  
"We are a rare breed."  
  
"Of course you are, Ron." She smiled at him.  
  
Their exchange of words was casual and no doubt continual, and they sounded like they had known each other forever.  
  
"God, these chocolates are amazing. Have one, you two, they'll never finish." She held out the Never Ending Chocolate Box to them.  
  
"Still don't know who sent it to you?"  
  
"Don't really care. She has good taste."  
  
"It's probably a he, you know," interjected Harry.  
  
"Alright then, he."  
  
"You don't even want to know who this he might be?"  
  
"Don't care."  
  
"Well, you're quite the boy magnet, aren't you, Manchester?" said a nasal, highly annoying face. Brooke looked calmly into the murky, muddy eyes of Pansy Parkinson.  
  
"Oh yes, of course."  
  
"Don't be smart with me, Mudblood." Ron's eyes flashed.  
  
If Brooke was fazed at all, she didn't show it. Instead, she stood up.  
  
"See, Pansy, that's an incorrect statement. Both my mother and father are purebloods, and unless I'm someone I'm not, then I'm a pureblood as well."  
  
"Liar." Pansy looked at her darkly, then walked away, muttering something..did Harry hear what he thought he heard?  
  
He looked on the ground for any reason to call Pansy over here, than spotted a wand in the ground. "Is that anyone's?"  
  
Ron and Brooke both shook their heads.  
  
"Oi, Parkinson!"  
  
Pansy whipped around, eyes narrowed.  
  
"What, idiot?"  
  
"This your wand?" Harry waved it ostentatiously at her.  
  
She huffed over, eyes ablaze, grabbed the wand out of Harry's hand, and kicked the Never Ending Chocolate Box out of Brooke's hand before saying, full of hate:  
  
"You don't deserve anybody's love, stupid showoff Mudblood, least of all Malfoy."  
  
It was then she decided to make her exit. 


	8. Chapter 8: Oh my

[a/n: Wow, this is turning into quite a story. Again, sorry for delay. Writer's block sucks.]  
  
Disclaimer: [I am stupid enough to forget that you need one for every chapter, so this accounts for the chapters I missed as well as this one] I own nothing but the plot and dialogue and Brooke.  
  
Brooke's mouth hung open wide. But it was nothing compared to the look on Ron's face. More angry than surprised, there was a pink tinge to his ears, always a danger sign. His eyes were getting that blaze...not a good sign.  
  
Harry, on the other hand, was, well, in shock. Malfoy? Fancying Brooke? But he...didn't he only fancy Slytherins? Or pure-bloods? Well, Brooke was a pure- blood. Didn't he favor thoroughly nasty people, which Brooke certainly wasn't, like Pansy Parkinson? No wonder she hated Brooke all of a sudden...calling her a Mudblood when she wasn't, looking at her as if she was dung. Made sense now.  
  
"He can't like you!" Ron's voice was ragged with anger.  
  
"Malfoy?"  
  
"The stupid scumbag."  
  
"As in Draco?"  
  
"The arrogant git."  
  
"The blonde one?"  
  
"The rich idiot!"  
  
"Oh, god."  
  
"That's what he thinks he is."  
  
"And that's why—"  
  
"He needs to go die in a hole."  
  
"That's why Pansy's probably been real horrible to you lately, Brooke," said Harry, sensing that Ron shouldn't talk anymore.  
  
"Do you realize he sent you those?"  
  
"Sent me what?"  
  
"The chocolates! The truffles, the Honeydukes bars, even the Never-Ending Chocolate Box! It's all his!"  
  
"So?"  
  
"It's tainted! It's got Malfoy's...his...his.."  
  
"His..."  
  
"I don't know, his germs or something!"  
  
"If it was him who sent it, his germs would have gone off a long time ago."  
  
"Or they would have doubled!" "Oh, come one—"  
  
"Or he could have poisoned it!"  
  
"Poisoned it? I doubt it."  
  
"Come on, Ron, be reasonable!" Harry interjected again, this time more forcefully. Ron was on a rampage.  
  
"No seriously!" He turned to Brooke. "You don't know what he's capable of, do you? He thinks he's better than everyone else because he's I don't know, big-nosed? And he thinks his dad having money makes him this big star or something, and that he can hex anyone he bloody hell wants, and he thinks he can just waltz himself through Potions and stuff, and he shouldn't be sending you this stuff!"  
  
"Why not? If he likes me he wouldn't poison it, Ron!" She was going to reach for more chocolate, but Harry shook his head behind Ron, and she refrained.  
  
"But he shouldn't like you in the first place!"  
  
"And why not?" She was beginning to get defensive. Harry didn't like where this was going. It sounded as if Ron was about to...  
  
"Because I like you!"  
  
And Harry was right, once again.  
  
"Why did I do it, Harry?"  
  
"I don't know, Ron."  
  
"I mean, am I that stupid?"  
  
"Honest mistake."  
  
"Did you see the look on her face?"  
  
"Yes, Ron."  
  
The conversation had been going this way for the last hour, always coming back to this loop. It was like a bad radio station, playing the same songs every hour. Harry was tired of convincing his friend that Brooke didn't look horrified, that she didn't run away in terror, but Ron would not let up.  
  
"Oh god, what if she never talks to me again, Harry?"  
  
"She's not like that."  
  
"What if she is?"  
  
"She's not, Ron."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Yes, Ron."  
  
"Positive?"  
  
"Ron!"  
  
"What's all the yelling about?" A bushy-haired someone flopped onto the armchair next to Harry's, and stared inquisitively at them.  
  
"Ron told Brooke."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Yep," said Ron. He sunk down in the chair, his hair trying desperately to blend with the armchair itself.  
  
"Oh, god, Ron, what did she say?"  
  
Ron scowled.....  
  
A/N: Sorry for the long time between chapters. Life, love, and writer's block all came to visit. Next chapter will be up soon, for my spring break is coming up, therefore more time to write. R&R&R –read and review and recommend- 


	9. Chapter 9: Brooke and her ways

[a.n. Ah. Writer's block really took me this time. Like really. So sorry for the delay, really.]  
  
disclaimer: the usual. Don't own nothin but b/d/p. [brooke, dialogue, plot].  
  
Ron told the story with great contempt...  
  
Brooke didn't blanche, which was a good sign. If she had, Harry might have feared rejection for Ron. Ron wasn't good at rejection.  
  
A tinge appeared at her cheeks, an attractive on. A flush, if you will. Harry stilled, with bated breath.  
  
She let out a laugh. "Do you really?"  
  
Ron looked down, picking at his shoes.  
  
She giggled. Then the giggle evolved into a full-on laugh.  
  
Ron looked up, defiant. "Why is it funny?"  
  
"It's not funny," she replied, stifling her laugh. Or trying to, anyway.  
  
Ron's cheeks were red, masking his freckles. Harry tried desperately to think of something witty to say, to save the situation. And it could only come out of Brooke's mouth. The aforementioned was playing with her hair, chewing slowly, and looking down at her feet. Then, her eyes lifted onto Ron's fuschia face.  
  
"Aren't you going to say something?"  
  
"W-What?" He stuttered.  
  
"Like a follow-up or something." She searched his face for any hint of something to come, anything at all. It didn't take her long to realize Ron was at a loss for words. She packed her things, got up, and said "I'm going to the Quidditch pitch. I want to see if the Slytherins' have anything on you guys. I'll see you two at dinner, ok?"  
  
Did it look like she was rushing to get out of there? Or was it just Harry?  
  
Ron sank to the ground, his head in his hands  
  
**  
  
"So that's it? She just walked away? She didn't even say anything?"  
  
"Well, she did, it just wasn't, well, helpful," concurred Ron.  
  
"If she didn't say anything, then maybe you have your answer."  
  
"What are you trying to say? That if she did fancy me back, she'd say something?"  
  
"Of course she would! If the guy she fancied just told her that he fancied her, wouldn't she say something?"  
  
"But...but...but what if she's shy? Not that type of girl?" Harry didn't want to believe Hermione or her twitch.  
  
"I don't know, Harry, I'm just saying what I think."  
  
"So she doesn't like me."  
  
"Maybe she does! Maybe Hermione's wrong!" Harry shot a glare towards Hermione, who shrugged matter-of-factly.  
  
"Maybe..." Ron, instead of sinking even further in the armchair, got up and walked slowly and dejectedly to the portrait hole.  
  
"I'm hungry...I'm going to go see if Dobby's got anything good cooking down there. Haven't been to see them in ages..." His tone didn't invite either one of them to accompany him.  
  
"Alright then, see you at dinner," Hermione answered in a business-like tone. She set her books on the table and started to write feverishly, though her face still had an expression of calm. As soon as the portrait hole closed, Harry pounced.  
  
"Why'd you say that?"  
  
Hermione looked up, surprised at Harry's ragged tone.  
  
"Say what?"  
  
"Say that Brooke doesn't like Ron!"  
  
"Because that's what I think."  
  
"Well maybe you could have said so at another time, not right after Ron was supposedly rejected!"  
  
"He asked my opinion; I gave it to him!"  
  
"You used to be more sympathetic! Smart move Hermione!" He launched into an impression of her, as accurate as a boy doing an impression of girl could be. He turned his head up and said, "Oh, Ron, she definitely doesn't like you! After all, who could? Forget about her, she hates you!"  
  
"I didn't say that!"  
  
"That's what it bloody sounded like!"  
  
Her big eyes didn't fill with tears. Rather, her face turned stony and her expression turned cold. "That's not what I said, Harry." She had a tone of finality.  
  
They sat there, both of them. Doing nothing, but shooting looks of death towards the ground. Harry sat in a thoughtful trance, then broke the silence.  
  
"You don't like Brooke, do you?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You don't like her very much."  
  
"Says who?"  
  
"Says me!"  
  
"Shows how much you know."  
  
"There! You said it!"  
  
"Did not!"  
  
"Did too!"  
  
"Did not!"  
  
"Just admit you hate her! Then it'll all be clear!"  
  
"But I don't hate her! I don't know her well enough to hate her!"  
  
"Then what's your problem?"  
  
Just then, Neville burst in. His cheeks were red, and he panted heavily. "Har-Hermi-come...quickly..." Neville put his hands on his knees, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. After exhaling, he stood up straight, and said, in a clear but clearly frightened voice, "There's rumors of duel going on in the hall before the Great Hall! Everybody's watching!"  
  
"Between who, Neville?"  
  
"Malfoy!"  
  
"And..."  
  
"A girl!"  
  
Hermione bristled at this, but still pressed on. "Which girl, Neville, which? We can't just go and watch a random duel; we've got exams to study for!"  
  
"Says you. Those are at the end of the year; I'm going!" Harry got up and motioned at Neville to take him there.  
  
Both of them walked, quickly, toward the hall, the noise greatening as they did so. As they rounded the corner, the sight of the crowd overwhelmed him. There was a huge swarm of people, arranged in a circle. Harry could see purple, red, and yellow, all mingled on one side. On the other side, behind who Harry now saw was Malfoy, was a great big mass of green, rowdy Slytherins. Malfoy looked at his opponent, whom Harry could not see (for he was standing behind her), paler than usual, hands unsure. Harry spotted Ron, holding his stomach as if he had been punched there, sitting off to the side, but still in the circle.  
  
A voice, clear, rang out, obviously not for the first time. Her voice was soaked with honey, masking vendetta with a sweet ring.  
  
"So, are you up for it, Malfoy?" Harry froze. This couldn't be who he thought it was.  
  
"Y-you're a girl."  
  
"Thanks for noticing."  
  
"I can't duel with you!"  
  
"What? Fifteen and still think girls have cooties?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Then why not?"  
  
"I-I-I—"  
  
"You what? Afraid of being beaten by a girl? I thought you'd get over that once your voice deepened!"  
  
Malfoy swallowed and looked his opponent in the eye. For the first time since Harry could remember, his eyes were pleading. At the comment, however, the rest of his face tried to harden. "Not here," declared Malfoy, in the most malicious voice he could muster at the time.  
  
"Alright, then where?"  
  
"Near the lake, right before the Quidditch field. After—"  
  
"After nothing. You can't run away, Malfoy. We're dueling now."  
  
She turned on her heels and the crowd parted to let her through, like a national hero or celebrity. She walked through, head held high enough, wand gripped tightly in her hand. Harry shoved through some starry-eyed second years to catch up with her.  
  
"Brooke! What are you doing! Have you honestly gone mad?"  
  
"I haven't gone anywhere, Harry. I just think its time for me to have a little fun with Malfoy. And not in a way that he would enjoy."  
  
"But why?"  
  
"Do I really need to answer that question?"  
  
The sky was a bright blue, but dark, rumbling clouds were in the west, like a premonition. She picked a spot, quite close to the lake, and held her wand upright in front of her face, in customary dueling position. Malfoy arrived, with a sweeping of robes, and took his stand opposite her, hand slightly shaking as it held in front of his face. He could have fallen into the lake if his footing were to be lost. Ron lapsed behind, limping slightly, but trying desperately to keep up.  
  
"What happened to you?"  
  
"Brooke."  
  
"So she doesn't like you?"  
  
"No, she tried to hex Malfoy, but he redirected it to me."  
  
"Oh god."  
  
They stood there, face to face, Brooke looking confident, Malfoy, not so much.  
  
"Count of three. No cheating, idiot, or I'll make sure you regret it." Her trash-talking wasn't expert, but it was frightening. She mouthed something to herself.  
  
"Do we have to?" said Malfoy. Harry and Ron both grinned wide at his show of weakness.  
  
"Yes. You deserve to be beaten."  
  
"Who says you're going to beat me?" Malfoy retorted in an attempt to retain some dignity.  
  
"Everyone. I bet even your worshippers think so," said Brooke, gesturing with her free hand towards Crabbe and Goyle.  
  
Malfoy didn't dare turn around.  
  
"So are we going to do this or not?"  
  
"You still haven't given me a reason why we have to."  
  
"Who says there is one?"  
  
She took her position, with her wand above her hand. Malfoy closed his eyes, apparently hoping this situation would vanish, and did the same.  
  
"One."  
  
The crowd, now lacking scared third, second, and first years, whispered the numbers along with her.  
  
"Two."  
  
Everyone, including Malfoy, it seemed, lingered with baited breath.  
  
"Three."  
  
A splash was made, and before anyone could do, say, yell, or cheer anything, Malfoy fell, giant squid by his side, square into the lake, wand, robes, arrogance and all.  
  
[a/n. Like it? A little unconventional and conventional at the same time. Hopefully, new chapter coming soon. Writer's block has hopefully left the building and made its way to somewhere far away, like Fiji. R&R&R!] 


	10. Chapter 10: Malfoy

[a/n: Yay! Chapter 10! It's like, nostalgic or something. Like woot! 10 chapters! I feel accomplished now. But I'm not even sure how far I'm going to take this...maybe until the conflicts are resolved...and I'll have a nice, happy, dandy like candy ending. Let me know what you think...]  
  
disclaimer: Nothing is mine but B/d/p.   
  
Brooke strode over to Malfoy, struggling to pull himself up, trying to propel himself up using the muddy, slippery side of the lake. Having no such lake, he fell foolishly back in, mussing up his sleek blond hair even more. Brooke, looking utterly exasperated, held out her hand just so they wouldn't have to waste any time. Malfoy took it grudgingly, thinking that Brooke's hand, with it long fingers and shapely fingernails, wouldn't help him that much. As if Brooke could read his mind, she pulled as hard as she could and flung him in the other direction. Seeing as he was a 15 year old boy and she was using one hand, he went quite far. But it could have been the water making him quite a bit more slippery.   
  
"What was that for?"  
  
"For using cheap tricks, Malfoy, now get up, idiot."  
  
"Cheap tricks? I fell!"  
  
"Purposely. Its not that hard to tell. Now get up, we've got a duel to duel!" She placed her wand vertically in front of her again, looking even more determined to, well, kick Malfoy where it hurt. Or hex him.  
  
"Excuse me? Do I hear something about a duel?" said a cross voice. It seemed as if the entire crowd gasped at once, and immediately scrambled, leaving Brooke, Ron, Harry, and a very wet, humiliated Malfoy. Brooke, before the crowd departed, stuffed her wand back insider her robes. Professor McGonagall looked at the four of them, over her small spectacles, and asked, "Now, what are you four doing?"  
  
"Erm...we were going to study, Professor, but..."  
  
"Study? Where are your books?"   
  
"They're back in the common room, and we were just convincing Brooke to study with us when Malfoy fell into the lake."  
  
McGonagall looked at them once more. "I see." They waited, all four of them, looking at her expectantly, for some kind of reprimand. "Mr. Malfoy, please go change. We don't want to have to send you to the hospital wing. And the three of you, I suggest you study inside, for it looks like its about to rain." She pointed upwards, where the clouds that had seemed far away had moved directly overhead.   
  
She turned on her heel and walked away toward some mischievous third years.  
  
"Lucky break," said Brooke, looking Malfoy, still panting, straight in the eye.  
  
Similar to the woman before her, Brooke turned on her heel and walked away, Ron and Harry following behind. But not before throwing a harmless curse over their shoulders...  
  
**  
  
Quite a few people were mumbling about the proposed duel between Brooke and Malfoy. The younger ones were awed by Brooke, the older ones a little skeptical. But the people who knew Brooke didn't doubt that she could have beaten him with one eye closed. The only way that Brooke could have lost was with Malfoy cheating, like he always did.  
  
"I can't believe you did that." It was dinner, and Ron had taken a seat, after finishing, at the Ravenclaw table. Brooke swallowed a mouthful of mashed potatoes, and replied "Me neither. I'm actually a little glad he slipped, the idiot. Otherwise, he might have...I don't know, told me there was a hippogriff behind me then cursed me behind my back."  
  
"Not that you would fall for that, right?"  
  
"Oh, who knows, I might have. I've fallen for some pretty weird things. Once, my older sister turned one of my dolls into a spider and sent it running across the room, telling me it was going to eat me." She spooned some of the dessert onto her plate, and concentrated on trying to get the Jello-ish thing cut into pieces. " I ran out screaming, and then she took advantage of the empty space to trash my room, then wrap my birthday present."  
  
Ron smiled, perhaps a little nervously, and cleared his throat. He was going to do this. After all, he liked Brooke, [of course he did, he had told her so] and she was the best thing that ever happened to him. If she had never been here, he might have spent the rest of his time at Hogwarts pining for his best friend.   
  
"Brooke?"  
  
"Hm?" She turned to him, full-cheeked with dessert.  
  
"Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?"  
  
She nodded, still trying desperately to swallow.  
  
"Would you like to go with me?"  
  
Her swallowing attempts were futile. Nevertheless, she "smiled" and nodded happily.   
  
**  
  
"Harry?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Are you going to Hogsmeade with anyone?"  
  
"No."  
  
"No one at all?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"No one?"   
  
"Nobody, Hermione, why?"  
  
"Absolutely no one asked you?"  
  
"Nobody usually asks me."  
  
"Well I thought someone would have..."  
  
"Thanks, Hermione, I feel great, now."  
  
"No I mean, after all you've done-"  
  
"Feeling better by the second."  
  
"No I mean, should we go?"  
  
"Aren't you already? As a prefect?"  
  
"I mean, together."  
  
As soon as the word dropped, Harry stopped, froze, and looked up, straight at Hermione, looking very nonchalant and waiting for an answer.  
  
"Er..."  
  
Should they? As a couple? What would they do? Would they have to hold hands? Would this make it official? Would they have to...snog? Harry thought. Did he really like Hermione? It had some down to this.  
  
"Hermione, wouldn't it be a little odd for Ron?"  
  
"No. He's got a girlfriend now."  
  
"HAH! So weeks ago you're yelling at me for getting them to talk, saying its shallow to do that, and now you're contradicting yourself! You think it is ok if Ron has a girlfriend! I knew I was right." He was almost tempted to pump his fist, but Hermione could get mighty cross.   
  
"Answer the question, Potter. We have three days."  
  
**  
  
"So should I ask her? I mean, not while Weasley is there, he might cry, nor Potter, because he'll have to get all heroic and save Weasley's butt and hex me or something. Not that I'm afraid, or anything, but I don't want to get in trouble. Well, not by McGonagall. She's got quite a stick up there, I tell you..."  
  
Crabbe nodded dumbly. He was too interested in his muffin to comprehend Malfoy's words, but had always found nodding helpful. Except when Draco was telling jokes.  
  
"Alright, I'm going to do it. Weasley's walking away; got a stupid grin on his face, Brooke probably told him his obscene robes didn't look dusty or something..." He trailed off, straightening his green and silver tie. Gulping, considering the earlier fiasco, he was about to turn around when Brooke got up, put her bag on her shoulder and walked toward him. Or rather, toward the door. She passed by the Gryffindor table on the way, and was about to bend down to say something to Harry and Ron when--  
  
"Manchester!"  
  
She glared. He tried to smile, but stopped at the thought of what his mother said whenever he smiled. Stop it Draco, you look like you've just jumped out of a mental hospital. Apparently, he had also yelled her name quite loudly, for half the Gryffindor table, including Ron, turned to look.   
  
He strode over, trying to keep some pride, and even puffed out his chest a little, showing a gleaming prefects badge. "What are you doing Saturday?"  
  
Oh, were her eyes pretty. Even when they were narrowed in anger.   
  
"Why do you care."  
  
"I was wondering whether or not you were going to Hogsmeade."  
  
"Yes." Her answers were short, curt, and to the point. Ron stood up at the mention of the all-wizarding village.  
  
"Would you like to go with me?" His mouth turned up in a half smile as her expression changed, and he was preparing a response when-  
  
"No."  
  
That was it? No kind 'You're a nice guy, but..."? No moment to even think of it? Confusion ran through him.  
  
"Why not?" he said, flabbergasted.   
  
"Because I'm already going with someone. Ron."  
  
Draco's mouth immediately dropped. He had no idea, no idea, that Weasley liked her, that they had a thing going, that she even knew he existed! Alright, well, he did know that, since when her hex [directed toward him] hit Ron instead, she ran over to him to ask if the bloody weasel was alright. But this was news! This was major news! She was ions above him in class, in looks, in smarts...in everything. He was nothing compared to her! He should be licking her feet in worship! In fact, he should ask her for some money to by new teeth, they probably haven't been brushed in ages, or a new house for his entire family, who were probably out begging at the moment!   
  
It wasn't until Draco saw the utterly stunned looks on the faces in front of him that he realized that everything he had just thought had come out of his own mouth.   
  
[a/n. like it? I was having a little trouble with this one...but hopefully it turned out alright. R&R&R!] 


	11. Chapter 11: Room of Requirement

[a/n. Hahaha..chapter 11..filing for bankruptcy am I? Wouldn't be amusing if someone's last chapter was chapter 11? Alright I'll stop now. big delay, sorry. Once again, homework, life, and lack of creativity interfered. Hopefully haven't lost my touch though. R&R&R! ]  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing but d/B/p.  
  
"Good one Malfoy, real smooth. Almost as smooth as your hair," muttered Harry.  
  
Rather than blanching, which wouldn't have made much of a difference seeing as he was already quite pale, he turned the darkest color they had seen him, a soft pink. His stony eyes widened as they flickered from Brooke's wooden face to Ron's purple one to Hermione's shocked one to Neville's glazed over one to Ginny's angry one to Harry's ridiculing one...  
  
He couldn't help but run.  
  
^^^  
  
"Malfoy really really needs to die now."  
  
"Most definitely."  
  
"In the most torturous way possible."  
  
"Or the most painful."  
  
"Same thing, Ron."  
  
"You know I don't get big words, Hermione."  
  
"So who wants to do it?"  
  
"Why don't we all?"  
  
"If we each give him an Unforgivable..."  
  
"But what if they counteract each other and he dies quickly?"  
  
"Plus there are three Unforgivables and four of us..."  
  
"And what if we get caught?"  
  
"Hermione, that left as an issue a long long time ago..."  
  
The four of them walked huffily, angrily, broodingly, and strangely, thoughtfully toward the Gryffindor common room.   
  
"Are you allowed in here?" Ron asked, turning toward Brooke.  
  
"I really don't care for rules right now, just check if anyone's in there."  
  
"There are people."  
  
"Fine, then we'll go outside."  
  
"Slight problem there, it's pouring."  
  
"Then the Room of Requirement."  
  
"Alright then."  
  
They walked, in a brisk, almost business-like manner to the Room. Ron did the pacing, and the three walked in to a normal looking room. On the hard wooden shelves were hexes that did major pain but no major damage, and oddly, there were three loveseats and a couple of bean bags for seating. But instead of sitting, none of them took a seat. They looked around, awkwardly.  
  
"It's like we're training for battle."  
  
"Well, in essence, we are."   
  
"True, but...it's too planned. We can't sit down and plan how to attack him, can we?" Harry took the honor of the first seat by plopping into the nearest bean bag.   
  
"That's true."  
  
"Takes the fun out of it, kind of."  
  
Brooke sat down at a loveseat but turned down any sort of invitation by spreading her legs across the other side. Ron didn't notice, and instead took the nearest loveseat and nearly sunk into it like it was inviting quicksand.  
  
"Well that what are we to do?!" Hermione's voice was sharp and high pitched.  
  
"Er..."  
  
"Hermione, do we have to do something now? I'm tired! I need to think! I need sleep!" said Ron.  
  
"You need sleep?"  
  
"Yes! I need to shut my eyes and shift dangerously toward unconsciousness!"  
  
"I thought you didn't use big words."  
  
"I don't. Brooke taught me that word today." He laughed at Brooke, who smiled back, remembering some privately held inside joke.  
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Ron, you were just insulted in front of practically the entire school!"  
  
"I know, but that's happened before..."  
  
"SO?"  
  
"Hermione, every time Malfoy says something to me I end up running at him and then clobbering myself again. Maybe if I get some rest on it, I might actually succeed in finally doing him justice!"  
  
"Since when has that been your theory?"  
  
"I don't know, I've just kind of...been...well..."  
  
"Looking back on things," finished Harry.  
  
"Then you haven't realized that this is the worst of all the things he's ever said to you? Ron, he practically compared you to a servant, a house-elf, saying you should lick Brooke's shoes! He said things about your family, about your hair, about everything that means something to you and you just want to sit there and get some rest? Are you insane? You're just going to sit down and take his abuse?"  
  
Harry, Brooke, and Ron all looked up in surprise. Hermione's entire face was blazing; had she had red hair, she would have been on fire.  
  
"But-But-he's done it before. He didn't say anything new..." said Ron in a relatively timid voice.  
  
"So what if he didn't say anything new! He meant so much more! He was clearly lording his wealth, his status, his intelligence, and his entire life over you! He was taking everything he had that you didn't and shoving into your face, Ginny's face, every Weasley face and Weasley supporter there was in the room!"  
  
It was then that the three of them jumped up to face Hermione.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Brooke inquired.  
  
"What's what? You didn't hear what he said?!" Hermione whirled onto Brooke, in a harsh tone.  
  
"I heard exactly what he said; I'm just trying to see whether or not I heard exactly what you said!"  
  
"I said exactly what he said!"  
  
"No you didn't!" said Harry.  
  
"Yes, I did!"  
  
"You said something about Malfoy taking everything he has that Ron doesn't and lording it over him!"  
  
"Well it's true-isn't it? Isn't that what he was doing?"  
  
"So that is what you said..." said Ron, not sitting back down, but not looking angry either.   
  
"What? I was telling the truth!"  
  
"Hermione, if you were telling the truth, and all that Malfoy said was about intelligence, wealth, and popularity..." Harry gave Hermione a second, though he was sure someone like Hermione would take a lot less than that. Her eyes widened in realization...  
  
"No! NO! I didn't mean that! I didn't mean, Ron, no, Ron! I didn't---it came out wrong-"  
  
Ron didn't say anything. He sat there still, looking thoughtful yet utterly emotionless at the same time.  
  
Hermione looked around helplessly.  
  
The silence was welcomed and yet it hung so obviously, someone had to say something.  
  
"So then, what did you mean, Hermione? Just curious..."questioned Brooke tentatively.  
  
"Well, I, I kind of meant that Malfoy took everything he thought he had over Ron and was trying to bring him down-"  
  
"What did he think that he had over Ron?" said Harry, also curious.  
  
"I don't know, popularity?"  
  
"Malfoy? Popular?"  
  
"Alright then, intelligence."  
  
"Hermione!" exclaimed Ron.  
  
"No, I'm saying that's what he thinks he has-"  
  
"Alright then, what else?"  
  
"Wealth."  
  
"That's true."  
  
"But the intelligence thing-"  
  
"Yeah, Hermione, what's that imposing?"  
  
"Nothing, I suppose he doesn't mean academics, more strategy-"  
  
"So Ron's not strategic? Or cunning?"  
  
"No I didn't-"  
  
"Hermione, he plays Quidditch! He lives Quidditch, how he could not be strategic?"  
  
"No, listen, I-"  
  
"Hermione, come on-"  
  
"STOP IT!" she yelled. She closed her eyes and put her hands on her hands and said tiredly, "Stop ganging up on me!"  
  
"Ganging up on you?" Brooke looked genuinely confused. "How are we..."  
  
"All three of you! You're taking every word I said and twisting it around so I'm somehow insulting Ron! And then all of a sudden, I'm the enemy, I'm the one you all have to blame, it doesn't matter that Malfoy said all of this, its just that's it my fault that everything happened! All of a sudden I'm insulting Ron's intelligence and his status and his Quidditch abilities! And then you" she said, pointing to Ron "refuse to listen to even what I have to say about this subject, and you just sit there, pondering, and thinking that I want to insult you all the time, and you" she said, turning onto Brooke, "just encourage him by asking me all these questions and inquiring all the time what I meant about something and why I said something I did and you're probably feeding him and him," pointing in turn to Harry and Ron "that I'm the enemy here!"   
  
Hermione was going off into a tangent...  
  
"What? I-" Brooke replied.  
  
"Don't say you don't know what I'm talking about! You know exactly what I'm talking about!" She spat in disgust. "You sit there being all pretty, eating your chocolates, telling them how I'm trying to ruin their lives, and being all smart, and getting top grades and talking with Ron all the time and being everything that I'm not and then you!" She finally turned on to Harry. He had been waiting for this.   
  
"You..."  
  
Her expression softened, but her eyes were still burning. Then, after a second or two, it hardened, and she opened her mouth harshly before-  
  
"Wait, what?"  
  
She turned to Ron, in amazement.   
  
"AM I SPEAKING A DIFFERENT LANGUAGE?" Hermione plopped down, falling hard on the floor, because apparently she thought there was a bean bag beneath her. She put her head in her hands. Harry held his laughter, he was very frightened that if he laughed he would be in the hospital wing in a matchbox.  
  
"No, what you said was just odd..."  
  
"Odd how?"  
  
"No, nothing, nevermind, I might have heard you wrong..."  
  
Hermione, with her head still in her hands, did not seem to notice Brooke staring at her strangely. Ron, still playing the last few moments over in his head, spread out on the loveseat into what looked like a sleeping positing. Harry had sunk into the biggest bean bag chair in the room, The four of them sat there, one fuming, one close to sleeping, one imagining, and one thinking...  
  
[A/N: The only part of the story I'm mentioning here is strictly my plot. The D.A., Room of Requirement, and Umbridge are all referenced, but as of now, not directly parts of the story. And I did borrow a line from CoS about the matchbox thing...I always thought that was funny. Anyway..was a hard chapter to write, so I hope you liked it...] 


	12. Chapter 12: Strange

A/n: So, I finally made it Chapter 12! Yay. With minimal reviews for 11, I decided to press on anyway and keep those who actually read the story interested, hopefully...anyway, if you have any suggestions on where I should go or possible pairings, then read & review & recommend....  
  
I do not own anything but d/B/p.  
  
Ron and Harry stumbled tiredly to the Great Hall. It was late, late last night, after almost falling asleep in the Room of Requirement when they still realized that they had a considerable amount of homework left, and had grudgingly stayed up and done it. Ron stared in the mirror in of the Great Hall.  
  
"My God, I look like I haven't had any good sleep for days on end! Which, you know, I haven't."  
  
"Oh really? Yesterday when you were snoring, keeping me up, it sounded like you were having a pretty nice rest," said Harry.  
  
Ron shot him an 'I-don't-need-this' look and both of them dragged their feet into the Great Hall, which was oddly, quite empty. They did see Brooke sitting at the Ravenclaw table, though, absentmindedly picking at her toast, staring straight ahead. Ron and Harry sat down on either sides of her.  
  
"You look tired."  
  
"Thanks, Ron."  
  
"No, really, did you sleep at all last night?"  
  
"I left all of Snape's essay for the last minute, and I'm still a little under."  
  
"Oh, wow. For once I am ahead of someone in homework production."  
  
"And I am not at all prepared for McGonagall's check of what we learned so far. I'm going to do horrible."  
  
"You probably won't be that bad."  
  
"You probably won't even see me at all today because I'll be busy doing all this extra work." Brooke said all of this while still staring ahead.  
  
By this time, Harry had gotten up to go to the Gryffindor table to have something to eat. He was not at all hungry, yet when he saw all the food, he strangely started to stuff himself, for lack of anything better to do. Someone sat down next to him, and he turned with a witty remark prepared for Hermione when he saw a pale smirk facing him instead.  
  
"Hello, Potter."  
  
Harry almost spit out his food all over Malfoy.  
  
"What are you doing here?!"  
  
"Needed to talk with you for a bit."  
  
"What? Since when?!"  
  
"Since now. Now get up Potter, I don't feel like sitting at a table where Mudbloods have sat before."  
  
"I am NOT getting---"  
  
Malfoy took Harry's arm and jerked him up, putting them face to face.  
  
"I need to talk to you."  
  
"Said that already." Harry's voice was clipped, for he didn't at all feel like conversing with Malfoy.  
  
"I'm asking for your help."  
  
Harry could have fainted, but instead, he produced a smirk not unlike the one Malfoy often wore.  
  
"Me? For help? What, need help deflating your head a bit?" He and Malfoy did not break eye contact, Harry's green eyes almost boring into Malfoy's stone-cold gray ones.  
  
"No. I'm only asking you because you can help me. You'll want to help me." His words for formed, as if Harry was deaf.  
  
"Why would I want to?" He wanted to end this exchange of words swiftly and painlessly..  
  
"Because you know Weasley and Manchester don't belong together just as well as I do." His voice was now persuasive, as if this wasn't really true, but rather Harry was stupid enough to believe Malfoy's words.  
  
"Oh, do I?" Harry was almost impersonating Malfoy's voice when he said so.  
  
"Yes, you do. You, like me, know that Manchester is light-years above Weasley in every kind of caliber."  
  
"Is he?"  
  
"Yes, he is, and you know it. So why don't we cut to the chase and I'll tell you what you have to do."  
  
Harry tried his hardest to come up with a sharp retort to that, but lack of sleep interfered. Instead, he watched, loathing, as Malfoy laid out a vicious plan.  
  
"First, you convince Weasley that Manchester doesn't like him, that she's faking it. You tell him that Manchester is just pitying him and being nice to him. Then, you tell Manchester that Weasley's using her for studies or something ridiculous like that that Weasley would do, and convince her that he's not true to himself." Malfoy was counting on his fingers the steps of this plan. "Then, he's off of her and back to the Mudblood, she's hurt and confused and will run to me, and everyone wins!" Malfoy almost looked actually happy, even though the coldness in his eyes remained. He looked at Harry, almost confident that Harry would agree. "What do you think, Potter? A plan like this should appeal to you, with your big head," he smirked, smug and intimidating. Or at least trying to be.  
  
"I think two things. One, my name is Brooke, not Manchester. And two, Malfoy, you're a dead man." Malfoy turned around to one 11 and a half inch willow unicorn hair wand pointed straight at his nose.  
  
Draco Malfoy's timing was not his strong suit.  
  
"Did you hear? She cursed Malfoy in the Great Hall, didn't get caught, and managed to keep in the hospital for a week! Who knew someone like her could do that?!"  
  
"I know! I heard he's covered in boils, barely able to say a word!"  
  
"And none of the teachers saw her! I bet she could go around throwing out Unforgivables with her kind of craftiness and not get caught!"  
  
Harry had heard comments like this all day, about Brooke's seemingly fantastical 'attack' on Malfoy. He loved how it took so little for things to be twisted out of context. After all, how many of these gossips was actually there that morning? He laughed to himself before turning another corridor.  
  
Some of it was truth. The curse would keep Malfoy in the hospital for at least 24 hours. Brooke had told him it was because she whispered it, and when she whispered curses they were stronger. Harry wasn't sure how much he believed that, but it was plausible. It was also true that the curse was genuinely done by her, even though some denied in on account of the fact they didn't hear her say anything. What wasn't true was the fact that she did not get caught. Soon after the incident that produced floor rolling laughter and a great sense of triumph over most Gryffindors, Professor McGonagall pulled Brooke over. She was awarded with a week's detentions and 20 points taken from Ravenclaw. A small price to pay for such a large success. Malfoy was out of their hair for good. Or so he thought.  
  
He walked into Charms to see Hermione looking awfully strange. She had the same wide-eyed look as Brooke had had earlier that morning, staring straight ahead. Seemingly, Flitwick had his back turned, and had already started the class, thankfully not noticing that Harry was a bit late. Ribbons were flying everywhere, as the class tried to make them wriggle, fly, levitate, slither, and tie themselves. Ron was happily making his pink ribbon follow his wand in a figure eight, a triangle, and almost got it to spell out 'Ron' before he had to recast the spell.  
  
"This is awfully childish."  
  
"And so much fun!" Harry could not tell whether or not Ron was amused because he liked the spell or could actually do it.  
  
"Hermione?" Harry turned to her. "Are you alright?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Sure?"  
  
"Well, not really." She turned to Harry. It seemed as if she was about to let out something big.  
  
"Harry, you know how Brooke received those chocolates, right?"  
  
At the mention of Brooke's name, Ron started to listen as well.  
  
"And how it was this big basket chock full of expensive things from Hogsmeade?"  
  
"Yes..."  
  
"Well don't you remember that night...a couple weeks ago...I got a basket..."  
  
Realization dawned upon Harry in a minute. But for Ron, it was a little slower, for that was the day Hermione and Harry had had a special moment...  
  
"Class dismissed!" said Flitwick in his oh-so-perky voice.  
  
Malfoy was in pain. It was not fun being in pain, not fun at all. He almost felt sorry for those who he had cursed until he realized none of them were ever brought to the hospital wing. He sat there, unable to move his leg, and pondered for the thousandth time how she had managed to land him in the hospital wing  
  
He had turned around for one second and before he could have opened his mouth (and thank goodness he didn't) she had whispered something and he had felt it graze by his leg before he felt the shooting pain that made him fall over. It was sharp, in both legs, but it had only damaged one. The only reason he was still sitting here was because he could barely walk and that infliction needed an overnight potion to heal.  
  
He laid back against the pillow, much scratchier then that of Slytherin's beds, and turned on his side. He thought to himself. This is what you get when you fancy a Ravenclaw. There too clever and conniving for their own good. He was so angry at himself for letting a Ravenclaw, and for that matter, a Gryffindor land him in the hospital wing. He desperately wished he had something to eat to take his mind off of things.  
  
"Madam Pomfrey, I swear, I'm fine! Professor gave me something and the swelling's going down, and---"  
  
"My dear girl, do you know how contagious that is? Just brushing someone else could erupt them in swells! You must stay here until it dies down!"  
  
"But—"  
  
"Dear, we're going to get you some food and have one of your friends bring me some pajamas. Don't worry, darling, its only one night!"  
  
"But my homework! And my dinner!"  
  
"Like I said, someone will bring you and Mr. Malfoy some dinner so then you can rest peacefully while the boils subside. Here, right in this bed."  
  
Malfoy's back was turned, and he was too much in pain to see who his companion was. He hoped it was at least a Slytherin, and judging by the complaining, he was almost certain it was. The girl, or boy with high pitched voice, grumbled as Madam Pomfrey laid back the sheets and did the obligatory pillow fluff.  
  
"Alright dear, I'll be back in 10 minutes or so to check up on you and give you some dinner. Malfoy, let me check on that leg of yours..."  
  
He himself started to grumble as he pulled his numb left leg and paining right leg, as well as his entire body flat onto the bed. Madam Pomfrey pressed certain parts of his leg, then came to the nightstand to feed him some more of the thick, murky potion. It globbed down his throat and was hard to swallow, but the pain lessened and the feeling in his left leg was coming back. He turned to his companion, to see if it was anyone interesting.  
  
Interesting was quite an understatement to the word that came to mind when Malfoy saw Brooke in the cot next to his.  
  
Her eyes widened and she quickly turned away, her expression cold and hard. He turned away just as quickly, his face flaming at the sight of his 'attacker'. He looked down at his chest. He cracked his knuckles. He adjusted his robe. He tried to touch his toes. He did anything so he didn't have to look at her. Because looking at her would not be fun. His face would flame again.  
  
"Feeling pain?"  
  
He didn't want to answer to the only person that had ever shamed him. It would not be fun.  
  
"I'll take that as a yes."  
  
Still silence. He looked adamantly at his toes.  
  
"Because someone like you can't admit when he's wrong."  
  
His toes really weren't that interesting.  
  
"When he's in pain."  
  
Maybe he needed nicer shoes?  
  
"Because his head's just too big."  
  
"Shut up!" he said angrily.  
  
She didn't looked shocked at his outburst. Rather, she seemed like she was expecting it.  
  
"You know its true, Malfoy."  
  
"You wish."  
  
"Oh do I? Your ego has nothing to do with me."  
  
"Now that's lying, Manchester."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"If I didn't have a big ego, you wouldn't be so relenting about trying to take me down."  
  
She looked at him strangely. "Are you insulting me or complimenting me?"  
  
"A little of both."  
  
"Well that's nice of you."  
  
"Thank you." She shot him a dirty look.  
  
"So what do you suppose is for dinner?" He was turning on the charm now, since his toes were sincerely boring.  
  
"Don't talk to me."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because you're wasting your breath."  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
"I do, so shut it."  
  
"You're the one still talking."  
  
She almost smiled at this, but forced the corners of her mouth down. Point one for Malfoy.  
  
"Because you won't stop annoying me."  
  
"You're letting me."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"If you didn't keep throwing back witty retorts, I'd eventually stop."  
  
"That's not true."  
  
"Was that an insult or a compliment?"  
  
"Stop mocking me."  
  
"Who says I was?" She noticed he was being incredibly out of character.  
  
"I don't know, just...your tone!"  
  
"My tone?"  
  
"Stop it!"  
  
"Stop what?" He had an innocent and very attractive smile on his face. She looked away.  
  
"Just shut it! I'm not in the mood."  
  
"What, are you hungry?"  
  
"Why do you care?"  
  
"Why do you ask?"  
  
"Malfoy, just...stop talking."  
  
She looked at him, and he looked back and smiled at her. She was befuddled by the past five minutes. Why was he being so calm? He had, technically, not said anything insulting toward her, Ron, or anything she might get ruffled about in general. He just asked questions. Strange.  
  
And she had a tingle in her stomach which was either hunger or something she didn't want to contemplate...  
  
How very strange indeed. 


End file.
